


Dedication in D Minor

by Hollybush



Series: Deliver Me-Universe [4]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: M/M, Oliver demanded a say, Oliver's Mother - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:54:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22870573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hollybush/pseuds/Hollybush
Summary: "Your mom came to see you."He's not sure what he wants to do with that. If there's anything he wants to do with that.He loves this life, would protect it at all costs.But...His mother came.Or: Oliver's POV.
Relationships: Oliver/Elio Perlman
Series: Deliver Me-Universe [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643983
Comments: 32
Kudos: 96





	Dedication in D Minor

**Author's Note:**

> Found the beginning of this in the digital attic and figured I might as well. 
> 
> I hope someone, somewhere, enjoys it. 
> 
> Happy Sunday!

It’s hard for him to hear, at first. To think about.

Elio tells him like it’s no big deal. A light and airy tone for such weighty news.

_I called your parents._

That in itself he could understand. He didn’t see the point, knew it was a pointless endeavor, but he understood that Elio, being Elio, would feel the need to make that call.

Elio was hopeful, at his core. His optimism had such depth and reached so wide. Of course he would make that call.

But then…

_Your mom came to see you._

Of the things he’d been sad to let go of, when he’d decided he could not let go of Elio, his mother was the easiest, in a way. It wasn’t that he wanted to, or that he couldn’t feel the heartache that came with letting go of those you love and who were willing to love you, but because it was a goodbye that had been so long coming.

He’d pulled away from his parents at a much earlier age, long before Elio even, but his father had still always played a role, drilling into him what the meaning of success was, lectures about a man’s responsibilities, duties as a husband. His father, though they were never close, was considered important to his in-laws, Lis’s father eager to meet Oliver’s. He’d played a role, even if it wasn’t a loving one.

His mother had never seemed to try very hard beyond what was expected at surface level and she’d disapproved of so much of him while understanding so little. He’d disappointed her so early on that she’d been the first one he’d let go of, in many ways.

He’d thought she’d done the same. Thought it was a two-way street, a mutual goodbye.

And then there was the accident and a hospital stay he could barely remember anything of.

Waking up to a sparsely lit room, doctors and beeps and noises. Wondering for a brief moment if Elio was only in his head, not in his life, and drifting off again.

The next time he woke up, that he consciously remembers, Elio was there, a face among the many, and he was allowed to go home.

And then.

_Your mom came._

His mother came.

**

It takes him a while to decide what he wants to do with that. If he wants to do anything.

Time goes on and weeks go by and then months have passed and their life seems to have returned to normal. He’s back at work and Elio is back at school, finishing up, thinking about the future and his career in more serious terms and they’re talking about maybe leaving the city, choosing another and he realizes that if they leave New York behind, then he wants to leave thoughts of the past behind as well.

And he thinks that maybe he wants to see his mother.

He thinks that her coming here, after Elio called….he doesn’t know his mother well, knows barely anything about her, doesn’t doubt that she knows absolutely nothing about him that is worth knowing.

But he knows that coming here to see him, to stay with Elio, that means something. He doesn’t know _what_ it means, though, and he wants to know.

**

“She’s here.”

Elio’s been by the window for the better part of an hour, full of restless energy. Elio was pleased when Oliver told him he was thinking about calling his mother, asking her to come. Pleased and a little smug. 

_I was wondering if you would. I think you should._

Frustratingly lovely in his smugness, even as he says things Oliver doesn’t believe in.

_I know you see the world differently, but you don’t know my mother._

A pointed look from the corner of his eye then, as reached for his cup.

_Maybe you don’t either._

Maybe he doesn’t.

But he’s not altogether sure he wants to change that.

**

He calls and she answers and she says yes, she’ll come, and he flounders for a moment.

_Okay, then…see you later then, I guess._

She knows where he lives already, doesn’t need him to tell her and he forgot that for a moment, even though he knew.

He doesn’t know why it grates on him.

**

_She’s here_ , Elio said and dashed towards the door, and almost out of it, only to turn back last-minute. A pirouette right back into the doorway, into Oliver. He grabs hold of Elio’s shoulders, even as Elio steadies himself on his arms, turns into his chest a bit, curls not quite tickling his chin.

He’s lucky. He’d not trade this for anything. He’s happy. He loves this boy, _his_ boy.

He’s not sure he wants his mother to be a part of this new life he’s built. A life he’s protective of. A love even more so.

Elio, as always, can tell.

“She’s here now, can’t back out.”

His hand comes up in the middle of Oliver’s chest, his fingers pressing in a little, assuring and grounding.

“But she doesn’t have to be up here. We’ll go to Droves, the good coffee.”

He looks up at Oliver, nods a little in that quick way he has, like he’s done so many times before. Questioning and puzzled, a little unsure but with so much patience, patience he has only for Oliver, and infinite kindness.

He can’t help but smile. Can’t help but smile a lot these days, ever since….

It’s a good place to be in.

Yeah, he’s lucky because he got a chance to find this when so many people don’t, but he’s also fought tooth and nail for this, paid the price, pays it still, and he refuses to offer more than was already taken.

“Droves.”

It’s all Elio needs. He nods, understands, stands on tiptoes and kisses his forehead, his nose, his lips.

“I’ll meet her outside, hm?”

There’s the tiny smile that won his heart, a flutter at the corner of his mouth, barely there but so telling.

“Don’t hide for too long.”

And he’s off.

**

He doesn’t hide for too long.

He takes a breath and goes downstairs. He greets her, from a distance, doesn’t smile or make real eye contact. Wonders why he thought this was a good idea. Wonders what he wants from her.

What she wants from him that made her say yes.

He lets Elio take the lead, watches him slip back so that Oliver can go ahead.

He steps up his pace a little, listens to Elio’s murmurs and his mother’s replies. He can’t follow the conversation, doubts it’s anything important, but he listens, waiting to hear something in his mother’s tone, the words she chooses. Judgment, or bitterness. She was never one for snark or biting comments, but he still listens for them.

They don’t come. She answers in short but harmless sentences, a bit out of breath because of the wind and the brisk pace.

He walks faster until he gets to Droves, the door opening as a couple steps out.

He looks back, sees Elio and his mother about to cross the street and hurries inside.

Now what?

**

He doesn’t last long.

Somewhere between ordering and failing to eat a pastry, Elio’s legs brush his, a hand takes his plate away while the other drops down and grips his thigh.

He doesn’t have to say anything to get his point across. Oliver knows he’s being weird. Cold. He also knows that’s not what Elio means to convey. Elio is worried, touches him to bring comfort, shake him out of it, let him know he’s okay, he’s not alone, he can do this, and if he can’t, that’s fine too.

But he knows that what Elio really wants is for him to talk to his mother. He wants Oliver to have what he has with Anella and if that can’t happen, then to have something, anything. Anything but nothing.

He’s told him this in the conversations leading up to that phone call.

_I think you should try because she came here and she didn’t hate me. I don’t think she wants to hate us, Oliver. I think maybe she would want to try, if you did._

So he called and now they’re here.

He grips Elio’s hand for moment, quick but firm, to let him know he’ll be here, he’ll try. But he needs a moment.

He excuses himself to go to the bathroom and goes outside instead. Walks over and buys himself the first pack of cigarettes in months and months.

They’d agreed, him and Elio, to limit smoking to Italy, to the house, the summer. They spent last summer there, surrounded by sunshine and color and good food. Frizzante and fresh fruits to pick every day and good conversation. They’d lain in the grass by the lake, on the too-hot concrete of the poolside, in the shadows of Anella’s trees and shared lemonade and cigarettes and memories. And plans. So many plans.

The best days of his life were spent there and they’ll go back there soon and re-live it all once again. The best days, with the best people. He loves it there, feels he can breathe again as soon as the plane lands. Elio feels the same, he knows. They share that, like they share so many other things.

He borrows a lighter from someone and stands by the window, off to the side, looks in and watches his mother talk to Elio. Elio leans forward at some point, Oliver knows that movement, that look on his face. He’s been on the other side of that face often enough to know the effect. To have all of Elio’s attention is a heady thing.

He wonders what she said to invite it.

She doesn’t seem to back away from it. She looks a little out of place to Oliver, but he can acknowledge that maybe it only looks that way to him because he knows how out of place she _is_. How out of place he wants her to be.

He stubs out the cigarette. It’s not the same.

**

He only finds the words the moment she says goodbye.

He’s watched her, waited for something, anything, that will prove to him he made a mistake in calling her. That her coming to see him, then or now, was an act of selfishness on her end.

She turns to go, waves carefully and hesitantly back Elio as he goes upstairs, leaves them behind. Oliver knows that when he comes back up in a minute, there’ll be a glass of wine waiting for him on the counter, music playing, Elio on the piano or on the sofa, waiting for him. Always waiting for him.

The words come easily enough but he still flinches a bit.

“Thank you.”

She turns and he wavers. This is it then. This is why he called.

“For coming here.”

It was a test. He realizes it fully only now. Now that they’re standing here, literally at a crossing.

“Well, I…..you called.”

“Yes. But you said…well, anyway. When Elio told me you’d actually come to see me, stayed here….”

He lets the sentence peter out. He’s not sure of what comes next. Still isn’t sure he even wants to know.

“He’s very persuasive. I was going to book a hotel room, but…”

He almost smiles at that, as he does whenever he thinks about Elio being Elio. Brilliant and bullheaded and so, so good. He doesn’t want that goodness tainted by anything that has already tainted him.

Still though, he promised Elio he would try.

“But he’s Elio. Believe me, I know how that must’ve gone. Still….you did stay. And ate takeaway, although I’m still not sure he’s not lying about that.”

There’s a strange look on her face for a moment. He can’t read it but he never could read her very well. She was always too self-aware to be easily read by others. It’s an effect of knowing how you are perceived that you know how to shape that perception. He’s never been able to read her well, but he has always known he got that from her. Not much else, perhaps, but that.

“He’s not, unfortunately. I did not care for the Papaya dog.”

The laugh that escapes him can’t be helped. He didn’t expect her to make a joke at all and certainly not one that he can envision so well. Elio, out about town, dragging his mother from street carts to hole-in-the-wall restaurants, persevering in his plan, his absolute determination, to not give her a chance to hate him, to hate them, but also not giving her a chance to dismiss him.

He moves to the door, fishes the key out of his pocket. He wants to go home now. He wants that glass of wine and the warmth of their sofa and their blankets and Elio. Always Elio.

“Elio…”

For a split second, her saying his name tumbles over his own thoughts and it’s disorientating. He shakes his head to clear it and turns back.

She seems to doubt herself for a moment, herself or her words, whichever and he raises an eyebrow.

“He’s quite something.”

He almost flinches. _Here we go then_.

He knew it was too easy, this.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

She doesn’t respond to his icy tone. Barely responds at all.

“I mean that he is quite remarkable.”

Her tone is factual, as if what’s she’s saying isn’t _remarkable._ What is with people telling him the most incredible things like they’re telling him the time.

“What??”

She tilts her head and looks at him. There isn’t a glimpse of a smile or any warmth to her, not really.

“I don’t think I have ever met anybody like him before. He’s …ah…He is a lot of things but most of those things are good.”

He knows this, of course, wouldn’t be with him otherwise. Wouldn't have done all that he did if he wasn't absolutely sure. He knows they’re a good fit, whatever the world thinks.

“Yes.”

She takes an audible breath then and it’s the first time that he thinks he can see the toll this takes on her, just a little bit. He supposes that none of this is easy for her.

“I just wanted to say that…I wanted you to know that I think I see what drew you to him.”

No, this can’t be easy for her. But he can’t bring himself to care. It’s people like her, people that are her friends, that she chose over him, that believe he and Elio have to apologize for who they are.

After everything, how is he supposed to care?

“I don’t know how to respond to that. I didn’t think you’d ever even meet him, let alone like him.”

“I didn’t expect either of those either.”

He doesn’t want to care, doesn’t want to waste time on things that don’t bring anything but disappointment. He’s wasted so much time already, it’s made him conscious of how he spends it now, and who to spend it on.

Still, he wants to know. Curiosity killed the cat and all, but he’s said his goodbyes once. He figures he can do it again.

“So you like him?”

He’s not sure what he’s expecting. Maybe this is one last test.

“I do.”

Maybe she knows.

“He likes you too.”

“Yes, he acts that way.”

“Elio doesn’t act.”

He’s quick to say it, defending Elio from criticism, unwarranted or not, first nature to him now, but he knows the truth.

Elio does act. Not well, because he only acts when he’s passionate about something and trying to play it cool and he possesses no subtlety when he really wants something, when he means it. It radiates off him, that light, that fire. It's Oliver's absolute favourite thing about him. 

“Actually, scratch that, he acts all the time, but he wouldn’t about you.”

She looks away, into the distance. He wonders what she sees there.

“I think….I will take that as a compliment.”

“You should.”

She nods and he can see a bit of what she used to look like, when he was younger and they both believed she would love him forever and without bounds and she was so, so beautiful.

She straightens her shoulders and looks up at him.

“I think you are your best self, here, with Elio. And I would not take that from you, Oliver. Not anymore.”

He doesn’t know how to talk to her anymore. She looks so much like she used to, but not entirely, not fully. And she talks as if she hasn’t begged him to lie his way through another life. 

“You’ve changed.”

It’s the only thing he can think to say that he knows is true.

“I know.”  
  


His heart starts to beat a little faster. It’s the first time today, the first time in years where it concerns her.

“When did that happen?”

Something pulls at her mouth. Something that tugs and hurts. He recognizes it with ease because it used to pull at him, back with Lis, whenever someone brought up Italy or the Perlmans, or anything related to that summer. It’s sharp and it claws at your mouth, and at your throat and it settles in your stomach until you almost get used to the weight there. And then it happens all over again. 

It never ends until you make it end, but he’s not going to be the one to tell her that.

“I’m not sure, but I don’t think it really matters.” 

She looks at him, her question sincere.

“Does it?”

Perhaps she already knows.

“No, it doesn’t.”

He moves back towards the door and when he looks back, he can see her crossing the street, back to where she left her life. He wonders if it feels different to her now.

He wonders if it will to him.

He pushes his shoulder against the door, a heavy and unyielding thing that makes his life miserable every single day. Elio kicks at it sometimes, annoyed at how he has to use his whole weight to get it to move, while Oliver can manage with a little push of his shoulder.

He grins at the thought.

They’re getting ready to leave this behind, he knows. This city, this flat, this unyielding door.

Some things though, they can take with them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Especially if you made it through all parts of this. I salute you.


End file.
